


the last blues we’re ever gonna have

by constellatns



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, First Kisses, Post canon, Tender Moments™️, idk how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 03:39:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17738297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constellatns/pseuds/constellatns
Summary: “It wasn’t my first kiss, but it’s not like I’ve had very many, could probably count them all on my hands if I tried to,” there was a tone at the end which indicated he did not want to attempt to count them.“Could you try?” She asks.





	the last blues we’re ever gonna have

**Author's Note:**

> this concept came to me suddenly while listening to bishop’s knife trick by fall out boy. maybe it’s bc Maggie announced call down the hawk. maybe I was possessed by a spirit of some kind but I wrote this so fast and I had to do something with it so here you go

The night is cold and clear late in November when Blue and Gansey look up from the grassy hill on the outskirts of Henrietta.

Earlier that night the Pig rumbled up Fox Way and Blue was out the front door before he put it in park. They weren’t a secret anymore but they both like feeling surrounded by night rather than small-town prying eyes.

  
  


“Was that your first kiss?” She asks him, it is some days after she had kissed him, Blue isn’t joking she is just curious.

 

Gansey makes a huff noise at the back of his throat sort of like a laugh, “In my defense, I was about to die,” he says.

 

Blue realizes that he thought she meant that the kiss was bad. It wasn’t. She didn’t mean that.

 

“I don’t—I didn’t—well you did _die_ ,” she adds at the end, unsure even as she says it if she’s okay with joking about it yet.

 

Gansey smiles and nods, “I guess I did.” After a long moment where he stares out the at the sky.

She looks at the way his brow knits, deciding what to say, Blue looks at the grass bent under his head, where his dusty hair meets the green ground.

 

“It wasn’t my first kiss, but it’s not like I’ve had very many, could probably count them all on my hands if I tried to,” there was a tone at the end which indicated he did _not_ want to attempt to count them.

 

“Could you try?” She asks. Maybe is voyeuristic, having only ever kissed (and killed) Gansey, being afraid to kiss him again and feel his heart stop.

 

Yes, she supposes she wants to know what it’s like kissing a beating heart, a racing pulse.

 

Gansey lets out a long breath and searches his memory.

 

“Well there was Penelope Moss when we were six,” he begins, “it was a torrid love affair, only taking place once in the sandbox in her backyard in the middle of summer,” Blue smiles and nudges him with her own shoulder at his flowery description.

 

“Be serious,” she says.

 

“Oh I am,” he insists, “she had just handed my her favorite shovel to use to dig our castle moat. Guess she thought that was love, or at least close enough for her to kiss me,” there’s a soft smile on Gansey’s face and Blue knows he is being one hundred percent serious.

 

Gansey laughs a bit before starting again, “next was Madeline Bisset, I think I was 14, and in France for the first time searching for Glendower. I remember she worked in this bakery I stopped in for directions. It was her uncle’s and after I explained to her, in what could only be described as horrendously broken French, about Glendower and the chase and where I was trying to go she ran from around the counter and kissed me. I thought it was a French thing, but she did end up telling me where to go in the end. I’m not sure why she kissed me, or if I should even count it.”

 

Blue thinks she understands why. It’s why she wanted to kiss him for so long. It’s the way his eye lit up when he mentioned his quest (even if he only mentioned it in passing his demeanor shifted), when he told the story, when he found a clue. He was passionate for it and it bled through every word, soaked through his skin like dark ink on a page.

 

At least, that’s what drew her in.

 

“So that’s two. Let’s see,” Gansey taps his foot of the leg resting on his other knee in the air as he thinks, “there was Alan, when I was 15.”

 

The name shocks her, she holds it in though, not knowing the story yet.

 

“I was in England with Malroy and he practically forced me to do what he called “young people’s things” because he insisted I wasn’t being enough a child,”

 

Blue thought Malroy was right, Gansey needed more youth in his years. Not like Blue had much of that either, determined to seem at least five years older than her age since birth.

 

“So he told me to go up the street to the University campus and not come back until I had a sufficient amount of fun,” Blue laughed at this, picturing the old man saying it, Gansey turned to her and laughed too, “I know. I know. He actually said this. So anyway, I go and find a party, tell them I’m an exchange student, I don’t think it would have mattered what I said but I made me feel better, and then I was handed a beer and thrown into a conversation about football and Shakespeare,” at the face Blue pulls Gansey says, “they were English majors.”

 

She rolls her eyes, of course that is the party which Gansey found.

 

“I met Alan about twenty minutes after I arrived. He handed me my second beer and asked about the states for awhile. And an hour later we were still talking and he was reciting poems and sonnets and we were both drinking more and more. I remember that _Tainted_ _Love_ just started playing and he was talking about some philosophy class or whatever but all I could stare at was his lips. So I kissed him. And I was probably too drunk but I remember consciously making the decision and if I was sober I’m sure I’d do it again. He kissed me back and I guess that was the first one I ever truly counted.”

 

Blue isn't sure why she is surprised by this. She isn’t sure why she expects anything at all from Gansey at this point. It seems exactly in line with his personality when the initial shock leaves her. Blue thinks about Alan reciting poetry and talking about Shakespeare and probably something about the morals of humanity. She thinks about the same heavy look in Gansey’s eyes as when she was in driver’s seat of the Camaro. She thinks how there was no prophecy holding him back from kissing Alan at that house party and that he would have done the same to her in the Camaro if their lives had been a little different.

 

“He was nice. I didn’t get his number or anything. I think we both liked the singleness if the moment, how it happened once and never again. Made it special,” Gansey mused with a content voice.

 

“That it?” Blue asks then.

 

“One more, Lincoln in Montana,” he says.

 

Blue thinks she knows this story, certainly not all of it if his name is on this list, but he might have mentioned this before.

 

“He was struck by lightning and could walk perfectly on the ley lines. Also he was afraid of the indoors. We walked along the line for two days. I kissed him halfway through the second day. He was explaining some field which was carved by a glacier and I just couldn’t help it. He was sweet, kind. Definitely didn’t deserve what he got. I’m not sure I loved him, I think I could have, given enough time. That might be why I begged him to come back to the East coast with me. I said it was to walk the lines there, but it was more than that. He said it was a long walk. Which, I guess he was right,” Gansey finished kind of sadly.

 

Blue wonders if this curse wasn’t hers, how many people would she have kissed. Gansey’s multi-country trek made her day dream about it, taking tally of people she wished she could have kissed.

Adam. The girl who worked at the art store when she was 16. The equally quiet boy who sat at her lunch table her entire junior year. Noah when he was alive.

There are probably others, none which jump out of romantic stories like Gansey’s.

 

“And then there’s you,” he says with weight Blue can feel in her toes behind it. Blue looks over and he is looking at her, hazel eyes a shade darker in the night and in the conversation.

 

She thinks that she usually is better at this: Gansey’s weighty claim, her snappy comeback, but right now, she is so caught up in his stories she can’t think of anything to say.

 

Gansey’s hand comes closer to her own by her side. He slips it under her own so they are mirror images of each other, fingertips on fingertips, she can feel his pulse in his thumb with her own, in his wrist with her own.

Blue is Penelope handing him her favorite shovel, she’s Madeline in the bakery listening to his story, she’s Gansey at the party mesmerized by Alan’s lips around the ancient poetry, she’s Gansey in the middle of Montana almost falling in love with Lincoln and all his heavy sadness.

 

She isn’t so sad she won’t ever get to kiss anyone else. Because Gansey is looking at her like she’s been looking at the stars her whole life, like he looks at Henrietta, like he never wants to kiss anyone else either.

 

Their fingers interlock then. Blue feels the grass in her fingers, feels Gansey’s warm palm.

 

She rationalizes kissing him in her head. Her mother and Calla have said it should be fine. That she is certifiably curse-free. But the image of Gansey falling from her arms still haunts her.

 

But she feels his pulse on his wrist again, sees him blink his eyes. Gansey is here and real and alive.

 

And her lips won’t change that anymore.

 

So Blue leans over and kisses him.

 

Whatever fear either of them had vanishes, it’s warm and comforting. Gansey places his other hand on her cheek and she feels surrounded by him, him and the stars.

 

They break apart but their foreheads stay touching.

 

“Gonna need two hands now, Gansey,” she says with a smile.

 

He laughs and it’s low and it rumbles out of his lips. “I’m gonna need a lot more than my hands if it’s you, Blue.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll love them until I die jot that down. 
> 
> catch me on tumblr @ridleyboyegas


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